“It sounds as though he just wanted to threaten Chandler, not kill him. Maybe he did the deed, but I can’t imagine that Cinda didn’t encourage him somehow, and now he’s convinced himself he did it for love. I can’t believe she really cares for him, but she’s good at getting what she wants from people. Let’s hope this is the end of it. Although the project is probably going to suffer. Damn!” Meg sat back and drank some more tea, fighting another wave of tears.
“Meg, I know how hard the past couple of months have been for you, what with losing your job, and the house, even before … Chandler’s death. You put yourself in a difficult position, moving here, with nobody to lean on.”
Meg nodded. “Maybe you’re right. Heck, Art said the same thing, more or less. I didn’t plan things very well, did I?”
“I’ve got to say it took guts to stand up in front of a room full of strangers and do what you did.”
“Even if I was wrong?”
“You got some pieces right. Look, a lot of people would have said, ‘It’s not my business,’ and walked away. But that would have been wrong.”
“That’s what I thought,” Meg answered. “I just wanted to buy some time, to find out why Chandler died. I never meant …” She set down the mug and laid her head back against the couch. She was tired to her very bones …
30
Meg woke with a start to find light pouring into the room. What was she doing sleeping on the parlor couch? She shifted, then amended that thought: what was she doing here on the couch with Seth Chapin? He lay sprawled, half sitting, half reclining, and here she was, with her head on his chest, his arm around her. She lay still, trying to reassemble what had happened the night before. Pieces filtered back slowly: the Town Meeting, the police station, her return, and finding a belligerent Stephen in her home. And Seth’s arrival, and the police, and … that’s right, Seth had stayed on, after the chief had left. And he’d made her a cup of tea. He had every right to be angry at her, since she’d tossed a bomb into his life, but instead he had worried about her. Just like he worried about everyone else—his sister, the people of the town. Didn’t anyone ever worry about Seth?
What would today hold? Obviously they were going to have to sort out the legalities with the police. Meg couldn’t wait to hear Cinda’s version of the story. No doubt she would pretend to be shocked and surprised—and would find a way to weasel out of any responsibility. Meg sat up cautiously, dislodging a crocheted afghan that Seth must have draped around her when she fell asleep. She had no idea where he had found it.
“Seth?” She gave his shoulder a gentle nudge.
Seth’s eyes opened, and she watched him struggle to wake up. What would he remember first—Stephen’s arrest or what had come after? She was rewarded with a smile. It didn’t last, as the rest of yesterday’s events caught up, but she had seen it. Then he, too, sat up quickly, as if unsure of his welcome. She almost laughed.
“It’s okay, Seth. You didn’t take advantage of me. In fact, I think I fell asleep on you. But I’m sure there will be a lot going on today. Can I make you breakfast?”
“Sounds good. Let me wash up.”
“You know where the bathroom is.”
Meg had done a hasty job of brushing her teeth and was sticking a pan of muffins in the oven when she was startled by a knock at the kitchen door. She opened it, and Rachel strode in.
“Do you know where Seth is? Somebody calls and tells me Stephen’s in jail, and then Seth disappears, and his van’s nowhere to be seen. Damn him, everything’s falling apart,” she said without preamble. Her hair was uncombed, and there were dark circles under her eyes.
“Sit down and have some coffee, Rachel,” Meg said. “Seth’s here. And I know about Stephen, because Art Preston picked him up here last night.”
Rachel remained standing, tense. “Seth’s here?” Her voice was shrill.
Seth chose that moment to appear. “Hey, Rachel. What’re you doing here?”
“Playing catch-up, apparently. What the hell is going on?”
“Sit down. Have you had breakfast?”
“No, damn it! Will you just tell me what happened?”
Meg set a mug of coffee on the table near her, then retreated to lean on the stove as Seth said, “Rachel, I’m not going to talk to you until you sit down.” Seth stared at his sister until she plopped into a chair like a sulky child, then resumed. “Stephen admitted to killing Chandler Hale. At the Town Meeting last night Meg stood up and more or less accused Cinda Patterson of murder, and then the meeting fell apart, and Art took Cinda and Meg back to the station to talk with them. Cinda stonewalled, and Art had nothing to hold her on, so he had to let her go. But when Meg came back here last night, Stephen was waiting for her. Luckily Art and I got here before he did anything stupid. But, Rachel, you’ve got to know, we all heard him confess. He was seeing Cinda, and he confronted Hale, and things went wrong.”
Rachel was staring at her brother with shock. “Stephen and Cinda? And murder? No way. What the hell was he thinking?”
Seth shook his head. “That’s the problem—he wasn’t thinking.I don’t think he meant to kill Hale. It sounds like it might have been an accident. Anyway, Art took him off to the jail to sober up, and I stayed with Meg, because she’s had a hell of a time, and I wanted to be sure she was all right. And that’s all I know. I assume we’ll be talking to Art and Marcus this morning.”
As Seth fell silent, Meg felt a pang. Where did Rachel’s loyalties lie? With Seth or with Stephen? And where would Meg come out in the equation? She held her tongue and stayed put, watching Rachel.
Rachel stared into her coffee. She nodded once. “Damn. He really did it?” She looked at Seth, pain in her eyes.
He nodded. “Looks like it. But I’d be willing to bet he had some help with the aftermath, like getting rid of the body and getting the stories straight. He said he’d been drinking, and he’s not very good at details under the best of circumstances. So I find it hard to believe that he managed to conceal all evidence of Chandler’s death …”
Meg finished the sentence for him. “Without help. Cinda. She’s got the brains to handle it, and she was right there in the hotel. At least we’ve got her for something, like lying to the police or concealing evidence.” Meg felt obscurely cheered by her own reasoning. “I’ll bet he hoped she would thank him for eliminating Chandler.”
“Did Seth and I get the only brains in the family? That idiot,” Rachel burst out. “I’m sorry, Meg. You shouldn’t have gotten dragged into our little drama. I love Stephen, but I’m not surprised. He’s always thought he deserved more than he got, and he was always looking for a shortcut. I just never thought he could do anything like this. Poor Stephen.”
Relief surged through Meg. Rachel didn’t hate her. Maybe she could salvage something from the wreckage. She took her own coffee and sat at the table. “Rachel, I’d give anything if all this hadn’t happened.”
“I know. Just give me time to get used to it, all right? So, Seth, is there anything we need to do? Should I go see Stephen?”
“First things first. Eat breakfast. I’m going to get him a lawyer, and I’m sure they’ll want Meg and me at the station sometime today. Other than that, there’s not much to be done.”
Rachel stood up. “Okay. In the meantime, I’ve got full bookingsfor tonight, so I guess I’d better go take care of business. Call me as soon as you know anything, Seth.” She hugged him briefly, then she was gone, leaving Seth and Meg alone.
Seth spoke first. “She’ll be okay with it. She knows it’s nothing you did.”
“I hope so. I can’t afford to lose any friends right now.”
“Don’t worry, Meg. Rachel’s good people.”
“I know. But I’m worried about the rest of the town. So far they know me as ‘the lady with the body’ or ‘the crazy lady who blew up the Town Meeting’ or maybe ‘the lady who shot down Granford Grange.’ And now it’s going to be ‘the lady who sent Stephen Chapin to jail.’”
“Meg, it’s Stephen’s own fault that he’s in jail. No one will think of you that way, at least, not if you stay around long enough for them to get to know you.”
Meg wondered how to answer that, or if it was even a question. The silence swelled. Finally she said, “The muffins are about done. I’d better see about that breakfast I offered you.”
31
After breakfast, Seth went home to change clothes, walking back over the hill to his place to clear his head, or so he said. Meg took a fast shower. She was downstairs wandering aimlessly from room to room while she waited, when Seth rapped at the front door.
“Art wants us. Can we take your car? The van’s still at the police station.”
“Sure. I’m ready.” Meg found her purse and coat and joined Seth at the door, pulling it firmly closed behind her. She paused for a moment on the granite stoop.
Seth looked at her. “You up to this?”
“Hey, I’m looking forward to it. I can’t wait to see how Cinda plays this out. Let’s get it over with.”
At the station, Art greeted them. “The detective’s on his way to take custody of Stephen, and Cinda’ll be here any minute.” He led them together to the now-familiar interview room.
Meg smiled at him. “Can I take it I’m no longer a suspect?”
“What? Oh, no, sorry about that.”
“What happens now?” Seth asked.
Art rubbed his hands over his face. His stubble suggested he hadn’t gone home all night. “We should wait for Marcus—save time repeating everything. But I can tell you that Stephen has made a statement. He stuck to what he said to you last night, pretty much: he confronted Chandler, he didn’t mean to kill him, and Cinda didn’t know anything about it.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Meg said.
“I’ve called a lawyer for him—old college buddy of mine,” Seth added quickly.
“That’s a good thing, Seth,” Art answered. “I think Stephen would say just about anything to make sure that Cinda stays out of it.”
“And you don’t believe him?” Meg asked.
Art shrugged. “Not for me to say. I probably shouldn’t have said this much, and the detective’ll have my head, but I thought you should know where we’re at. Hell of a situation, isn’t it?”
Cinda arrived promptly, but when she walked into the room, Meg thought that something had changed. She was still dressed in a power suit, but was it a bit wrinkled? Her hair was still sleek, but maybe a few strands had escaped her attention? And there was definitely a patch of skin on her chin that she had missed with her foundation. Yes, Meg thought, Cinda is starting to fray around the edges.
Cinda seemed surprised to find Meg and Seth in the room. “Why, Art, I thought you just wanted to talk with me?” She didn’t greet Meg or Seth, acknowledging them only with a cool glance.
“Ms. Patterson.” Art nodded her toward a chair. “We’re waiting for the detective to arrive, so we might as well hold off on discussing anything until he gets here. We took Stephen Chapin into custody last night.”
Cinda sat. “Really? Why?” she said cautiously.
“He killed Chandler Hale, or so he says.”
To Meg’s amusement, Cinda managed to look shocked. “That’s terrible. Did he say what happened?”
“Ms. Patterson, it would be inappropriate of me to discuss any details at this time. Let’s wait for Detective Marcus.”
A charged silence fell. Meg and Seth exchanged glances, and Seth gave a small shrug. Meg had nothing to say. Maybe Art wanted to use the silence to make Cinda nervous. Or maybe he was just being careful.
Cinda kept checking her watch as they waited. Finally Meg couldn’t stand it. “Do you have an appointment, Cinda?”
Meg’s question appeared to startle her. “What? Oh, no. I just wish we could get this over with.”
“Have you talked with your higher-ups at the bank yet?” Meg thought a question not related to the murder should be safe.
She was surprised by Cinda’s reaction: she seemed to wilt. “I spoke with the division vice president before I left Northampton.” She bit her lower lip, destroying her carefully applied lip gloss.
“And?” Meg prompted.
“He thinks that perhaps we should step back and reevaluate our options, due to the series of unfortunate incidents here in Granford.” She sounded as though she was quoting.
So the bank was running scared, Meg thought, and might even withdraw from the whole Granford project. Not that she would blame them—there was too much negative publicity surrounding it now, and there were plenty of other small towns in this part of the state in need of economic stimulation. But what would happen to Cinda? Did Meg really care?
She looked up to see Detective Marcus striding into the room. He paused in the doorway, inventorying the people there. Art rose to greet him. “Marcus,” he said.
The detective nodded. “Preston. You’ve got Chapin in custody?”
“I do. Picked him up last night, but he was three sheets to the wind at the time.”
“Read him his rights?”
“I didn’t arrest him—left that for you.”
“He say anything?”
“He said plenty.”
Meg, watching Cinda’s face, noted that she had turned even paler behind her blotchy foundation.
“Then let’s get this over with.”
“Sure thing. I’ll go get him.” Art left the room. The detective turned and for the first time acknowledged that there were other people there. “Chapin, Ms. Corey, Ms. Patterson.”
Cinda summoned up a smile. “Detective Marcus, I can’t tell you how awful I feel about all this.”
“And why would that be, ma’am?”
Cinda faltered. “Why, that Stephen killed Chandler, of course.”
Meg could almost feel sorry for her. Clearly Cinda wasn’t sure how much the detective knew or had been told, and she knew she was treading on thin ice.
Art reappeared with Stephen in tow. Stephen definitely looked the worse for wear this morning, his eyes bloodshot, his clothes rumpled. But his face brightened when he saw Cinda.
“Lucy! I told them the whole story. I told them it was me that did it, and you didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Mr. Chapin,” Cinda said, in an icy voice, “what else would you tell them? It’s the truth. I had nothing to do with Chandler Hale’s murder. Why would anyone think that?”
Stephen’s face fell. He looked to the others for help and found none. Meg could almost see the gears turning in his head: Cinda was not going to acknowledge him. In fact, Cinda was going to put as much distance between them as possible. That had to hurt. Maybe Stephen had inherited some share of the Chapin intelligence, because his expression hardened. When he spoke again, he addressed the detective.
“Fine. Like hell, she had nothing to do with it. She was the one told me what to do with the body.”
The detective swivelled toward Cinda. “Ms. Patterson, I think it might be a good idea if you came with me.”
Cinda sputtered, “Can it wait, Detective? Because I really need to get back to my office in Boston, at least for a short while.”
“No. This is a murder investigation, and I have some questions for you. And you might want to think about some of the answers you gave me the last time we talked.” He nodded toward Art. “Preston, let’s get this sorted out.”
“Hang on a sec,” Seth interrupted. “Stephen, you don’t have to say anything. I’ve called a lawyer, and we’ll meet you over at the county jail. Just keep your mouth shut until then, okay?”
Stephen looked dully at him. “Right. Sure.”
The detective ignored Seth. He stared pointedly at Cinda until she realized he was waiting for her to leave the room first. When she stalked out, he followed, his hand on Stephen’s arm, with Art bringing up the rear.
Meg turned to Seth. “What just happened here?” she asked.
“The district attorney will charge Stephen wi
th the murder of Chandler Hale. It sticks in my mind that concealing evidence is some kind of felony, but I’m not sure what Marcus will want to do about Cinda. It’s going to be pretty much Stephen’s word against hers, unless someone saw them together hauling the body around. I’ll make sure Stephen gets decent representation, for whatever good that will do.”
Meg didn’t know what to say. She was tired of saying, “I’m sorry,” even though she was. Seth did not deserve this kind of trouble. Instead she asked, “What now?”
Seth sat back in his chair. “I want a word with Art when he’s done. Did you want to go home now?”
“No, I’ll wait. I’d like to hear what he has to say. Unless I’m not supposed to hear it?”
Seth shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not sure if you’ll have to testify to anything.” He lapsed into silence.
Fifteen minutes later Art returned, alone. He threw himself into a chair. “Damn, what a mess. Too bad it’s Marcus handling it, but it can’t be helped. Seth, if it’s any consolation, I don’t think Stephen meant to do any real harm.”
Seth shook his head. “I doubt it. He just doesn’t think, especially when he’s been drinking. Did you get any more of the story?”
Art glanced briefly at Meg. “Some. He wasn’t real coherent last night. We already knew that when Chandler went back to the hotel after that trip to the bar, Cinda joined him—purely for business purposes, or so she said. She came out sometime later, and Stephen was waiting the whole time, getting madder and madder. So when Cinda finally left—with that book—he barged in on Chandler. I’m guessing that Stephen pushed him or something, and Chandler hit his head and died—just plain bad luck. And make sure your lawyer friend knows that, Seth. That’s gotta be involuntary manslaughter. But then he hid the body, which goes against him.”
Seth nodded. “With Cinda’s help, don’t forget. I don’t think Stephen can plan more than three minutes ahead.”
One Bad Apple Page 26
